


Brawler

by anniesburg



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Loosely Connected One-Shot Series, M/M, Polyamory, Pre-Established Relationships, Prison Penpals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniesburg/pseuds/anniesburg
Summary: In which Clyde Logan considers that the family curse may just be his chance to endure the very worst that comes his way.





	Brawler

**Author's Note:**

> couldn't choose who i liked more so you get polyamory. i hope you like it!!

They let Joe out a week before the final football game of the season.

Logans’ tend to avert their eyes this time of year, shuddering from painful memories. The excitement surrounding a championship game is a little too similar to someone with a red marker drawing a circle around Jimmy’s busted knee in his varsity photo. Clyde’s been quieter than usual since September.

But Halloween’s coming, breathing a chill into the air that’ll soon make it too cold for sports. He holds up his phone screen on the way to the prison, showing you pictures of Sadie in her costume options when Mellie posts them in the group chat.

“Ain’t she sweet?” You ask, looking back to the road with a smile on your face. He hums in agreement, pocketing his device and gazing out the window. He doesn’t have to say it, he didn’t really want to come.

Most of the ride’s spent in silence at the speed limit, twisting roads taking you and him outside the city. At least the trees are doing something interesting, the bright green of summer’s fading to a rich yellow.

“His brothers are harmless an’ all, but they’re not gonna go get ‘im,” you start, looking briefly at Clyde out of the corner of your eye. You watch him nod. 

“I know,” he replies. “I'm here, ain’t I?” You reach out, putting your right hand on his left shoulder and giving an affectionate squeeze.

“Yeah, baby, you are. Thank you.” There’s a pause, he lets out a slow exhale. 

“You’re welcome,” you listen for something unspoken out of habit but you sense no implication that you owe him for this. Isn’t that Clyde, Sadie’s far from the only one who’s sweet. 

Putting your hand back on the wheel gives him more comfort than touching, Mellie’s really done a number on him. You can almost hear that speed demon asking you from the back seat if you want her dead from old age on arrival.

“Is he nice?” You pipe up again, in fifteen minutes you’ll see fences and barbed wire. 

“You’re the one who’s been writin’ him for goin’ on two years,” Clyde replies. “'Cept for that three months, I haven’t seen him in a lot longer’n that.” 

“Sure, but still,” you trail off. 

“Ain’t like you’ve never talked to him,” he reminds you, you give a little shrug. 

“Can you really know someone through letters’n a couple visits?” Your stomach feels like a porch light attracting luna moths.

“Yes, you can,” Clyde can keep his voice calm in any situation. Your jitters are to be expected, he’s known you long enough to understand. You’re thankful for the patience. “he’s a pervert, but he’s nothin’ bad. It’s gonna be all right.”

“You know, one’a these days you’ll be up for sainthood?” You’re smiling without really realizing it, taking a right turn at the last intersection before the prison. It isn’t as if your nerves are fully settled, but the feeling of moth wings lessens a little.

“Hopefully soon,” he says. You catch a glimpse of a small grin on his face, too. 

You thought the drive was nerve-wracking, it’s nothing compared to what the waiting’s like. When the gate’s in front of you and the car ride’s over, Clyde tells you where to go and what to watch for.

“They drop you off right outside, just like that,” he tells you, he knows you don’t like silence. 

“M’glad Mellie could get the day off to take you home,” you say. Reaching over, you unbuckle your seatbelt. “still feel bad about not bein’ there, though.” 

“Not your fault, you would’ve if you could’ve.” And he’s right. You lean towards him, giving him a quick peck on the lips before opening the driver’s door.

“I think I’ll wait outside. Could be the last nice day for a while.” Clyde nods, but reaches into the back seat and grabs your cardigan all the same. You take it from him and, perhaps a little selfishly, you take another kiss. 

You shrug it on when you’re stood outside the car, taking deep breaths of autumn air. Leaning against the trunk with your arms crossed, all that’s left to do is wait. 

Joe ends up seeing you first. After twenty minutes of quietly meditating on the chain-link diamonds and feeling an overwhelming surge of depression at the sight of the facilities you close your eyes. Tilting your head up, towards the warm sun.

“Who’s that?” You know his voice well enough, even if the last time you saw him was a little under a year ago on his birthday. That smile comes back and you blink away sunspots. 

“Just me, thought I’d surprise you with a ride home. S’kinda a far walk from Monroe to Boone, ain’t it?” You meet him halfway, glancing back only once to see Clyde’s nervous expression in the front seat. 

You’re not sure what compels you to hug him, maybe it’s the novelty. He’s not exactly glowing after months on and off in solitary effectively put an end to your letter communications. He’s stiff, solid as a rock when you tug him against you. Your hands rest on his lower back, there’s a pause before a strong arm’s tossed around your shoulders. Lifting your head, you kiss his cheekbone and leave a lipstick mark over the star.

“How’s it feel?” You ask, pulling away just enough to get another look at him. Freeing one hand, you take his sunglasses off. 

“Think I could get used to this,” he keeps his voice even but the attempts to stop a smile are obvious. He’s happy to see you. 

“Come on, you can sit up front with me. I’ll ask Clyde to take the backseat.” You let him go, turning with his arm still around your shoulder. 

“Clyde Logan?” The way Joe’s voice hardens has you frowning, looking up at him. He doesn’t stop, though, he walks with you back towards your car. 

“Yeah, I asked him to come with ‘cause I didn’t wanna be all alone with you.” Your tone makes it clear that your joking. There’s a flicker of anger in his eyes, but when they fall on your face, it’s covered up quick enough. 

“Smart and pretty, who’d’a guessed?” You wrap your around around his mid-back, hoping that whatever hate’s apparently brewing in Joe Bang stays quiet for the trek back to Boone. 

Clyde and Joe exchange a tense look as they trade spots. Your boyfriend hunkers down in the back without any complaint and initially no words are said beyond a hello.

You climb back into the driver’s seat, buckling up and taking off. You sincerely doubt that any of you wants to stay here another minute.

Maybe bringing Clyde wasn’t the best idea, your stomach’s still a moth hatching site as you try to puzzle out what’s going on. If there was a fight during Clyde’s three-month stint, he would’ve told you about it. Wouldn’t he?

It couldn’t be jealousy, at least you hope it’s not. You hope that the tension surrounding you relates to some easily-reconcilable misunderstanding. Joe said sharing, if things head that way, would be all right with him.

But that was before your guy drove his car through the front of a gas station and landed himself behind bars. That was before the stone-cold month of May and the mysterious 29th.

You hope for the first time that it’s got something to do with the way Clyde clamps up when you ask him where he was on Memorial Day. With both of them out, odds are one’ll tell you what happened.

“Talk to your brother lately?” Joe asks after a bit of uncomfortable silence, he turns right around to stare into the backseat. Clyde looks up. 

“Not for a while,” he replies, his eyes dart to yours in the rearview mirror. 

“He moved out to Lynchburg so he could see his little girl,” you chime in, your voice substantially more cheerful. “we haven’t seen him in a long time, huh, baby?” Clyde nods. Joe sits forward again.

“Right, well, if you see ‘im.” He says and the conversation stalls. “Big boy’s been keepin’ you company, treatin’ you right?” The change in tone implies that he’s talking to you, now. 

“He keeps me warm,” you say. Joe’s a bloodhound for a blush, it’s how it’s always been.

“Makes you happy?” Like he has to ask. You catch Clyde’s eye in the mirror again. 

“Look at ‘im, could a face like that make anyone sad?” The shift in focus is subtle, you apologize with a wink. “Nah, I shouldn’t say that,” you lean slightly in Joe’s direction. “he gets embarrassed.” 

“Enough of that,” Clyde rumbles. He's crossed his arms over his chest, but he still looks at you. 

“Sorry,” you say, “I’m real sorry. Was just havin’ a little fun, you know I love you.” He does, you doubt you’ve done any permanent damage. 

“Love you, too.” He mumbles, looking away while your face heats. Eyes on the road, you remind yourself. 

“Now that your out, Joe, you gonna take me on that motorcycle ride like you promised?” You ask, the highway’s coming up and your jitters take a backseat to the long distance driving mentality. You’re hardly sad to see it go. “’Cause I got it in writin’. Least three times.”

His letters were always brief but indicative of whatever emotion he happened to be feeling when he wrote it. Usually it was some variation of deep-rooted longing for normalcy that you didn’t mind indulging. A lot of motorcycle rides, you promised, were in his future. And a lot of blackout-drunk nights.

“F’that’s what you want, s’what you’ll get,” he doesn’t seem wholly divorced from that terrible anger upon seeing Clyde, but his genuine excitement reminds you why you came all this way.

He’s all right, what your mother would describe as good people. One of the rare mergings of dangerously intelligent and jovial. Joe reaches out, but slowly and he puts his hand on your knee. You let him.

“Saw your bike at the house when I was grabbin’ the key for you last winter. Don’t know much about ‘em, but it looks nice.” His grip’s bordering on affectionate. 

“Fixed ‘er up myself, she’s a beaut. We’ll get’cha a helmet an’ I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.” A lofty promise, but it makes you at least hopeful for the future. 

“Sounds good to me. You wanna stop off at yours first? Got the key with me. It was right where you said, under the first porch step.” Joe shakes his head. 

“Gonna need a drink ‘fore I deal with that mess.” Your smile comes on fast, it catches you off-guard. 

“You mind, baby?” You ask, you glance over your shoulder at Clyde. 

“Nope,” he says. Your smile widens. 

“Duck Tape it is, then. Don’t’cha worry, Cly, it’s still your day off.” He seems to appreciate that. Not much else is said until you’re crossing counties. 

The sunshine’s burning its way towards evening when you pull into the parking lot. It’s closed-down, quiet and belonging only to you and the two men that step out of your car. It’s not barfly property, Clyde’s got the keys on him.

You stave off exhaustion with a diet coke and a watch Joe drink his beer in prolonged silence. It feels like there’s a wall, a preventative measure between him and your boyfriend. You brace your elbow on the bar counter and prop your chin up on your hand.

“Don’t worry too much ‘bout the house,” you tell Joe. He lifts an eyebrow. “I did a little tidyin’ up last week, should still be clean ‘cept for a little dust.” 

“Didn’t have to do that,” he says, he grips the beer bottle a little tighter. 

“Must be ‘cause I like you.” You turn your head to stifle a yawn. 

“Thanks,” he sounds quieter than usual, a little more like Clyde. 

He sits on the other side of you at the bar, nothing hard to drink either. You run your fingers through his dark hair with an absent-minded smile on your mouth. With a soft sigh, you drop your head onto his shoulder.

You’re not quite sure what prompts Joe to finish up as quick as he does, but you feel his hand on your shoulder after a half-hour.

“Ready to head out?” You ask, sounding genuinely confused. 

“Yeah, just about. You mind if I drive?” Sitting up properly, you shake your head. 

“I sure do,” you start. “you’ve been drinking.” 

“A beer, just the one. You look tired, I thought I’d---” Clyde cuts him off. 

“I can drive,” he says. His voice is sure but still his brand of soft-spoken. “I don’t mind. Was about five hours there’n back, that’s enough.” 

“Really?” You don’t have to ask that, but he nods anyway. Leaning in, you kiss him for the third time today.

You could measure out your adult life in these little stretches of time, it will never be long enough. Clyde kisses like he’s being careful, affectionate and reserved. It’s more than a peck but shorter than you’d like. You rationalize that there’s always time for more once Joe’s settled. 

“Thanks,” you say it to the air, to the both of them for offering. 

It’s after quitting time, now, surely when the three of you depart Duck Tape. Clyde has his arm around you and you don’t bother to hide your outward sighs of exhaustion.

“I don’t really understand,” you begin. As your walking past Joe, you take his hand in yours. He looks at you but neither pulls away nor says anything. “s’just drivin’. Still, it took a lot outta me.” 

“Don’t worry, little lady,” you squeeze Joe’s hand as he’s talking but fail to notice the way his voice wavers a little at the edges. “you’ve done enough for today.” 

You hum, content to let that be that when you remember something.

“Clyde, baby, last time you drove---” he doesn’t seem bothered. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says. 

“I know you’re not gonna kill me, but be careful,” it took a long time to break away from the fear that you’d ever nag him. 

“I promise,” he says. You believe him and when you reach your car, you hand over your keys.

“Joe’s gonna sit in the back with me,” you pipe up. If that’s news to him, he doesn’t seem phased. 

“What the lady wants,” he states, opening the car door. You get in. He follows after. 

Clyde likes the radio better than you do. The sleek-black prosthetic is able to handle the wheel a little easier than the previous model and he has no reservations about using his right to choose the music while he drives off in the direction of Joe’s house.

You want to tell him you like Dolly Parton when he flips to the country station, but he already knows. Jolene’s a favourite of yours, he hasn’t forgotten. Really, the urge to say anything dies when you’re sitting somewhere comfortable with no expectation to perform a task.

Before long, you can’t hear Dolly any more and you’re slumped over on Joe’s shoulder.

\---

Clyde watches you in the mirror, watches the way Joe knows what to do. He puts an arm around you, touches the ends of your hair with his fingers.

“She’s asleep,” he says, watching Joe look up from your resting face. “I’d know f’she was fakin’.” 

“She don’t got any idea what happened, huh?” It’s a question out of courtesy. Clyde shakes his head slowly. 

“And she never will, due in no small part to my brother’s decision.” Joe wants to feel the betrayal, the bitterness in Clyde’s voice but it doesn’t come across that way. He wants to know he’s not alone with this destitute feeling. 

But Logans’ stick tighter together than that, tighter than Bangs’. He knows two things now that he didn’t behind bars. One, that Jimmy chickened out on his own. Two, Clyde doesn’t hate him for it.

“Did he ever tell you why---” Clyde cuts him off for the second time that night and the prison habit to bite back seething rage rears its head. 

“No, he did not.” Is his stony reply. Joe leaves it at that. 

You shift a little in his arms and he looks down again. No heist money hits harder than he expected. But he’s known lots of guys who’ve gone free with less to their names, very few with more.

“You got yourself a nice girl, big boy.” Joe says, he brushes the hair that’s fallen in your face out of your eyes. 

“So do you,” he says. He keeps his eyes on the road.


End file.
